Blood to Blood
by Hexenwerk
Summary: Turning into a vampire and keeping it on the down-low might be difficult when one's colleagues are profilers. Especially when they're hunting a vampire.
1. Chapter 1

Emily woke up choking on a death rattle.

She was lying somewhere cold and earthy, gazing back at the moon above her, its face latticed with rustling tree branches.

She tried to breathe, and could barely turn her head to the side to hack past a mouthful of blood. A fog enveloped her brain, making it hard to think. Why was there blood in her mouth? Where was she?

She wasn't supposed to be here. Emily knew that.

Emily rolled onto her side, wincing at what felt like branches and rocks shifting below and jabbing at her. Sitting upright made her vision swim, followed by what felt like a fist tightening around her throat before nausea overcame her. She retched, blood spilling to the soil, and then gathered her bearings. Surprisingly, she felt better after the nausea–shaky, but more alert.

Afraid of what she was going to find, Emily nevertheless looked down at herself. Blood stained the entire front of her white blouse, and it was too dry to have come from her fit of sickness.

"Wha–" Emily croaked. Her mouth and throat were a desert, the taste of blood (her own?) was overwhelming, and she was so thirsty.

Scrambling around in the soil, which Emily absently noted was likely not the site of an attack, as there was not that much blood, she managed to get her hands on her purse and some of the contents that had spilled from it.

"Shit." She held in her hands the broken remains of her phone and an empty wallet. Emily knew what that meant. If she had been murdered, it would have made identifying her that much more difficult, giving her would-be murderer more time to cover his tracks and kill again.

—

Emily stumbled into her apartment. She knew she should have done anything else–gone to the police, or a hospital, or phoned her colleagues–but the situation was still too strange for her to make sense of. What was she supposed to say? That she'd been murdered, then got up and walked for help?

It was unreal.

The prior events were still not coming entirely to recollection. There had been a man, larger than her but not by much, but his size belied his strength–and then a burning pain originating from her throat and she couldn't breathe, she was _drowning_, the pain was everywhere it hurt she couldn't breathe she couldn't–

Emily slumped against the wall and clutched at her throat. Her fingers found the wound there, ragged and still wet.

Holding onto the wall for support, Emily hobbled toward her bedroom where she crashed onto the bed.

—

She woke up and for a moment hoped that it had been a nightmare, but while Emily could have excused the pounding headache and terrible taste and feel in her mouth to a hangover, the sight of her bloodstained clothes and hands was decidedly not typical upon waking up from a night of drinking too much.

Alright, Emily decided, she quickly needed to find out what was going on. One did not presumably get murdered and then get up the next . . . Emily extended an arm and felt for her alarm clock, which she raised to eye-level and groaned at the ten o'clock PM sign. It couldn't be the same night, she had still been out by then. Had she really slept for at least most of a day?

Snorting and putting a hand to her mouth as her lips quirked upward into a traitorous smile, Emily sat up and let the alarm clock fall at her side. She could probably allow herself the beauty rest, considering she had been dead!

Dead. Wow.

Emily didn't feel dead.

But she was tired. She eased herself back into repose and was asleep almost instantly.

—

It was morning when Emily next woke up. The sunlight coming through her windows was like a hammer beating down on her eyes, closed as they were, and Emily hissed, rolled out of bed and onto her feet, and left for the bathroom. Before she did anything else, she wanted a shower.

She was quick to shed her clothes and dump them unceremoniously on the floor as she went–there was certainly no salvaging them–before taking a very long, hot shower with a lot of scrubbing involved, her utility bill be damned. By the time Emily stepped out she felt a bit more human, and after toweling off she made her way toward her sink and mirror with trepidation over what she would see.

Good news: she wasn't a zombie. At least, Emily was pretty sure. No green or sickly skin, no dead eyes, and the thought of eating brains was gross.

Bad news: there was a scar curling around her throat. While it was no longer the open wound of last night, the scar was a striking red against the pale skin of her neck. Emily's mouth dropped in disbelief, for one just did not heal that fast, and then spooked at the sight in the mirror.

Fangs. Actual, honest-to-goodness fangs. At first, they did not appear much different from her usual canine teeth, just sharper, until a strange reflex went off in what felt like her gums and the fangs promptly elongated into ones along the likes only an apex predator would have.

Emily poked the tip of one of them with her finger, wincing as the light pressure drew blood. They didn't just look sharper, then. She sucked at the cut and then paused. Her finger still in her mouth, she stared at herself in the mirror, transfixed by the image there.

The blood tasted . . . good. Still like blood, but there was an appetizing quality to its flavor that she couldn't reconcile with past recollections of tasting blood.

Fangs plus liking blood? Emily snatched her hand away from her face to clutch at the bathroom counter, lips parted into a rictus as tremors racked her bowed form.

What else could those two things mean, but that she was somehow, against the natural world's logic, a vampire?

"I suppose I should be thankful that at least the folklore about mirrors isn't true," Emily mused aloud to herself as she matched the gaze of her reflection in the mirror. The words could came unbidden and rough against her throat.

Vampires. What the fuck. What the actual fuck.

Emily had known for most of her life that monsters were real. She confronted them on a regular basis and judged them for their evil actions, all while working to get into their minds and figure out what made them what they were. They were monsters, but they were comprehensible, capable of being rendered into cause-and-effect. Monsters were real, and they were human.

And now there were monsters that were not real, and she . . . she had joined their ranks?

After taking a deep breath, Emily held her breath for several moments before releasing it. She put a hand against the mirror and traced the contours of her face in it. Those dark eyes staring back at her appeared the same as every time she looked in a mirror.

Okay. So, vampires were real. And she was one of them. Did that make her a monster, though? Sure, blood was suddenly more appealing than the thought of food (and oh, Emily desperately hoped in that moment that vampires didn't also have an aversion to garlic like in the stories, because she didn't know if she could live without her favorite Italian dishes), and as a vampire she'd probably have to drink blood to survive. Ugh. But it wasn't like she was suddenly overcome with the desire to hunt down every person she came across and rip their throats out.

Well, Emily hadn't come across anybody since becoming a vampire, but she wasn't feeling homicidal out of nowhere, her thoughts still felt like her own. In any case, Emily couldn't see herself doing anything like what had been done to her. A ghost of that burning pain still had a grip on her nerves–it no longer hurt, but the sensation haunted her, reminding her of what transpired.

She was still herself, just a bit fangier than before. She could work with that.

—

The apartment was dimly lit with what sunshine got through the curtains. While experimentally putting a hand in a sunlit spot had not burned her, Emily could not deny the newfound sensitivity that her eyes had to light.

Without her phone (which reminded her, she still had to get a new phone, and _wow_ was it weird to think about such a mundane thing when she'd been turned into a vampire), Emily resorted to booting up her laptop for an accurate take on the date and time. She couldn't repress the moan when she realized that she had to get ready for work, and was already running late.

Emily jotted down a quick note to herself to purchase a new phone and then, after a moment's hesitation, added blackout blinds and food(?) to make a list of things she needed.

While Emily really didn't want to drink blood, she was more averse to dying. Not to mention that her stomach felt like a chasm begging to be filled. She'd see if she could get away with animal blood before she resorted to drinking human blood.

Heck, it wasn't like she actually knew what was true about what had once been a fictional creature to her, and for all Emily knew, maybe she could just eat like a normal human and be fine with that.

—

Emily arrived at work in a foul mood. Besides the realization that she was a vampire, she now had to replace her cellphone, identification, and credit cards. Furthermore, she still hadn't gotten a grasp on the whole fangs thing, and they had a tendency to "spring" out on their own. Above all else, she hadn't even had time to grab a cup of coffee.

"Emily, hey, how was your weekend?" Reid asked as Emily entered the employee kitchen, where he was stirring packets of sugar into his own coffee. Emily grunted at him, not trusting herself to talk when she was fangy and not caffeinated, and began to pour herself a cup. Reid took her presence and silence as cue for him to start talking about some science-fiction novel he had read over the weekend, and how he thought that she might like it.

It really sucked to become a vampire when your colleagues were all profilers, Emily was beginning to realize as she took her first sip of coffee. It wasn't necessarily that Emily thought she was going to be discovered as a vampire, because really, who would pin any changes in her behavior on being turned into a creature that supposedly doesn't exist? But she was already resigned to the fact that they would notice things were off with her, and had strategized on the way over to the office how she would explain things should they have questions.

Just so long as her fangs didn't come out at an inconvenient time, Emily was certain that she could manage this.

But what would she do about the man, or rather vampire, who had changed her? There was a supernatural killer in the area and, as far as she knew, he was under the radar.

"Hey, Emily, did you hear me?" Reid's voice broke through Emily's thoughts, and she realized that she had been so caught up inside her own mind that she had stopped drinking her coffee and had missed everything Reid had said.

Emily touched her tongue to a canine tooth, found it normal length, and said, "I'm sorry, what?"

Reid gave her a look, a line appearing between his brows. "I said that Hotch wants everybody to gather for the presentation of a new case."

"Oh, right, thanks." She walked alongside Reid, coffee cooling in her hands and unease curdling her stomach, wondering if she really was ready to fool a bunch of profilers that nothing had changed with her.

**Author's Note: Fixed the formatting from when I first uploaded this! I don't know how that mess happened, my apologies.**


	2. Chapter 2

Emily kept mostly to herself on the flight toward their case. They had been flying for several hours now, and it wouldn't be long before they touched down in Washington state.

A book lay open in her lap, still on the same page that it'd been on five minutes ago. Emily had brought it not only as a way to pass the time on the plane, but also in the hopes of dissuading socializing with the rest of the team. Reading proved increasingly difficult, her concentration shot as a new development was making itself known to her: her senses were sharpening.

Specifically, her hearing and smelling.

Emily had always been the type of person to be aware of her surroundings, but this went beyond that. The hum of the plane was a constant rush of background noise and, above that, she could hear the pitter-patter of Reid's heart across the table from her, the distant sounds of others along with the steady breaths that kept those hearts pumping blood.

Her own heart was a dull thud in her chest.

Emily's stomach rumbled as a sharp pang of hunger went through it. She frowned and rubbed her stomach even as Reid looked up from his book to give her a discerning look.

"Emily, have you eaten today?" he asked, "What I mean is just that your stomach has been making noise for the past few hours, and you don't look–"

"Reid, thanks, but I'm fine." When Reid's expression remained doubtful, Emily snapped, "Really."

For a moment she felt guilty at the way that Reid visibly withdrew from her, but her hunger distracted her once more.

Reid smelled like paper. The mustiness of old tomes, the acrid reek of papers hot off the printer, and the tang of ink that left an almost bitter note lingering on her tongue. Beneath that was the warm human scent.

Emily's eyes lifted away from her book to take another look at Reid. He was as pale as always, his thin skin marbled with veins, and she could see the pulse fluttering in his neck.

Emily swallowed back a mouthful of saliva, shut her book, and rose to her feet. Setting the book down on the table, knowing that she wasn't going to be able to focus on it anyway, she walked over to the bench where Morgan sat and took a spot by a window.

"Did Princess have a pea under her mattress, or what?" Morgan asked.

"What?" Emily blinked at the non-sequitur.

"You know that story, the princess and the pea? Where the princess can't sleep because there's a pea underneath her mattress? I'm saying you look like you could really use a good night's sleep."

Emily snorted. "Trust me, this weekend has more than fulfilled that quota."

That is, if she could count the time she had spent dead as sleep.

"Sleeping, or sleeping?" Morgan smirked, and Emily slapped him on the shoulder with the back of her hand for that innuendo.

"Sleeping, and that's all I have to say on the matter." Emily sniffed, then sneezed.

She took another breath, and sneezed once more.

"Bless you," Morgan said, but Emily paid it no mind, focusing on the scents that had inundated her. Generic sorts of smells: cologne, soap, a vague hint of wet dog, and that scent that she instinctively knew meant that a warm body full of blood was near. But throughout all of this was a peculiar sensation that tingled in her nose and even on her tongue, almost reminiscent to champagne.

Now aware of what to expect, Emily took another breath and this time did not sneeze, though the tingling smell still wafted toward her from Morgan.

Emily wrinkled her nose. It wasn't unpleasant, just unexpected. Either she'd get used to it, or she'd find a way to switch Morgan's cologne out with something else, certain that that must have been the cause of the strange smell-sensation.

Swathes of dark pines came into view as the plane continued its descent, and Emily watched the passing landscape and let her thoughts consume her. Anticipation over vagaries and questions to which she didn't have answers. They weren't unfamiliar to her, she had lived a lifetime knowing that she had little control over anything. Resistance was mostly a symbolic gesture, a way to keep sane when it felt like the world was pressing in on her.

—

While the weather outside had been overcast and the sunlight not too harsh on Emily's sunglass-covered eyes upon disembarking the plane, the police station of Pine Knells was a different story. She stumbled upon entering the building–bludgeoned by sounds of shoes squeaking on too-bright linoleum lit by fluorescent lights humming overhead, phones ringing, offenders shouting–and caught herself against a wall, squeezing her eyes shut and taking a deep breath to settle her nauseated stomach.

The stench of cheap, percolating coffee and old sweat did little to help her case, but Emily had already come to expect the heightened olfactory feedback, and fortunately she was able to gather her bearings just in time to not immediately retaliate against whomever had decided right then to place their hand on her shoulders.

It was JJ, a subtle mix of hardly-scented beauty products that was familiar and easy on Emily's nose, but Emily had known it was her by the light weight of her hand even before she had registered her smell. (And it still took her aback, not only that she could tell people apart by how they smelled, but also how rapidly she was adjusting to this part of her new condition.)

"Are things alright with you?" JJ asked in a low tone, and Emily rubbed her temples in circles.

"I'm fine, thanks. Just a bit of a headache." While Morgan and Reid had gone ahead to set up their workstation, Hotch and Rossi had remained behind with the police chief, Hotch speaking to the chief while Rossi's gaze was fixated on her, not straying even when Emily's shaded eyes met his.

She was never sure how she was supposed to feel about Rossi's scrutiny, what he was seeing in his target and what he chose to reveal of his analysis. Rossi never demanded, but it was that patience that urged people to spill their deepest secrets to him.

—

The team set to work the moment they entered the room that had been provided for them. Emily and JJ placed files on the lone table as Reid wheeled in a whiteboard and several dry-erase markers ranging the entire rainbow.

"The first few victims were found in the wilderness near town," Rossi began as he hung a map of the local area on one wall and stuck pins to mark the location of body finds. They had already went over much of the information on the plane, but that was hours ago, and they didn't have visual aids then. "And it wasn't until the fourth victim was found in the Olympic National Park that the local authorities realized that they had a serial killer on their hands."

Morgan looked over the victim profiles, eyebrows raised at the pictures of the bodies. "UnSub sure did a number on them. They thought that this was a bear mauling?"

"There had been recent bear sightings in the area, and the damage to the bodies was so extensive that they probably did not want to think that a human being would do this to another." Emily sat down and looked over one of the photographs with an impassive expression.

"The mutilation of the bodies definitely suggest overkill, and there's not much of a cool down period between kills. Our UnSub is probably a man in his late twenties to late forties, and he either has a personal relationship to the victims or is redirecting his aggression onto them, perhaps indicating that the true target of his rage is out-of-bounds in some way."

Rossi nodded along with Reid's analysis. "Definitely a strong man, and local, too; all of his victims were young and physically fit men, and the dumpsites were in areas too isolated to take them there by car."

Hotch frowned even as he stared at the photos taken of the sites, all rugged terrain dense with foliage and flooded with water in some places. "That doesn't narrow down the pool of suspects, not when a good portion of the population matches that description."

"Maybe not, but our UnSub is a hunter. An experienced one, at that," Emily said.

"How did you come to that conclusion?" Hotch raised his head to face her. Emily still looked unwell, her skin wan and the sunglasses likely hiding further signs of exhaustion or malaise, but she seemed focused enough that he would let it slide unless her condition became an impediment.

"The first victim, Andrew Cole, was a hunter, so he was likely aware of his surroundings and may have even been aware of the UnSub's presence, which means that he could have been familiar with him and likely would not have registered him as a threat. Coupled with the lack of forensic countermeasures, this indicates that his murder was probably not premeditated. In the area he was found in, there is almost no chance that anybody else would be out there unless they were also hunting. They could have gone together."

Hotch acknowledged this with a sharp nod. "Seems like the best lead to follow. Prentiss, Morgan, you go to Cole's house and be on the lookout especially for memos, a day planner, or anything of the sort. JJ and Reid will canvass neighbors, associates, and anyone else who might know more about Andrew Cole's plans. Rossi and I will go to the first dumpsite in case we notice something that the authorities previously did not."

The team rose from their seats as one and the room became filled with the flurry of jackets being pulled on and papers finding their ways into new hands and places.

—

Andrew Cole's residence was a small but well-maintained rambler, plain on the outside and backed against a copse. It was the kind of place that one would not come upon by accident, requiring a trip down a narrow dirt road that ducked into a patch of trees.

It was a quiet place, still close enough to town for its resident to be sociable, but withdrawn enough into nature that all Emily could hear was wind blowing through leaves and grass, and the animals going about their lives in the vicinity.

"Our victim seems to have lived an insular life," Morgan commented from the doorway, and Emily looked back at him. She wondered if he could hear the rodents scrabbling in the dirt and the birds fluttering amongst the boughs. Probably not; in any case, she certainly would not have just a few days before.

"What makes you say that?" she asked as she trailed Morgan into the house, his "sparkly" scent proving an effective distraction from the new smells inhabiting the residence.

"This house is pretty lived in, just look at the bookshelves."

"There are enough books in them to keep even Reid entertained for, say, a day." Morgan laughed at the remark as Emily continued, "More of them scattered about various surfaces, including furniture that has definitely seen some usage."

Emily and Morgan continued to examine the house and its contents, which had thankfully been left mostly untouched since its owners demise.

While going through a victim's house could be a sobering experience, learning more about them as a person and seeing the unfinished business that showed a lack of understanding that they were going to die, Emily would be lying were she to say that she wasn't grateful to be somewhere quiet and with limited company, and having something to focus on beside her hunger was especially appreciated.

"Hey." Emily paused in her perusal of an address book to give a serious-looking Morgan her attention, who led her from the study back into the living room and pointed at a half-empty glass of water left on the coffee table.

"What is it?"

"The victim isn't the anal-retentive type, but he's neat enough that he wouldn't have left the glass out unless he was pulled away suddenly or planning to return soon."

"He grew up with a single mother and her emphasis on manners and orderliness, which he came to value in turn," Emily said as she set down the day planner and picked up a dated photograph in a silver frame, which featured an older woman with her hands on the shoulders of a boy who strongly resembled the adult Andrew Cole.

"He would have used a coaster."

Emily put the photograph back and walked over to Morgan to examine the coffee table with him. Sure enough, while the present glass sat atop a coaster, there was a water ring left recently in the wood suggesting that another one had sat near it without a coaster.

"Somebody could have moved it onto the coaster when they dropped by after the fact." Emily didn't sound like she believed it herself, and she headed off for the kitchen. A few moments passed, and then, "I think I found something."

She was standing at the sink and looking down in it.

"A glass just like the one in the living room." Emily could tell immediately that the glass had been cleaned, what might have been a hint of dishwashing soap to an ordinary person reeking far more to Emily's potent olfactory senses.

"Only this one looks like it was cleaned. We profiled Cole's murder as spontaneous, so if the killer was with him before they went hiking . . ."

"The UnSub might have returned later to clean up any evidence that he'd been here." Emily finished for him.

"And the house shows no signs of being broken into. This UnSub definitely knew our victim."

"I'll call Hotch," Emily said as she pulled out her cellphone.

As Morgan did another cursory sweep of the house, Emily finished up her phone call and was leaving through the living room when she paused near the coffee table, unconscious of how her nostrils were flaring.

The place smelled most strongly of its owner, though Emily would describe the scent as somewhat faded, but there were a few other scents of people that were not typical to the house, not enough to indicate that they lived there, at any rate. One of them was notably fresher–almost familiar–but she couldn't place how or where.

It frustrated her in the same way as having a word on the tip of one's tongue but not knowing how to say it. Emily smoothed her face back into a neutral expression, feeling ridiculous that she was putting so much stock into a smell when she couldn't even say if it meant anything.

Her fangs were out again. Emily shook her head and kept her mouth shut as she walked up to the SUV, trying to call upon that reflex that would return them to normal.

She would get a grip on this. She would not let her new features take control of her, and she would not become some stereotypical, blood-crazed vampire just because she was hungry.

—

The case was going quickly, but not without missteps. It seemed as if, wherever they turned, evidence went missing or showed up later than when it was needed.

The team was currently going over the information they had picked up from their canvasses, offering their insights to each other and trying to fit the pieces together.

"Just got a call that the coroner is finished with the fourth victim," Hotch said as he walked into the room, the police chief at his side. The other agents immediately straightened up in their seats, all obviously eager to have an excuse to get up from the table and do anything other than look over the papers and shooting off exhausted theories.

"Reid," Hotch began as he walked over to the table and set the coffee cup he was carrying in front of Emily. "Emily, you two will meet with the coroner. See if you can notice anything about the bodies that he might have missed."

"Hotch?" Emily frowned at the coffee and then at Hotch. She usually wasn't the one to be called upon to meet with the coroners or medical examiners.

"You look like you need to stretch your legs and get your blood flowing. Go."

Emily rolled her eyes behind her sunglasses. If only Hotch knew how true that was. Nevertheless, she stood up, took the coffee, and followed Reid out of the room. Emily paused as she passed by the police chief to leave, coming to the realization that she could at least place one of the scents that had been present in Andrew Cole's home.

—

"I don't think I've ever seen you drink your coffee that fast; doesn't it burn?" Reid inquired as Emily dropped the empty cup into a garbage bin and held the door open to the morgue.

"Not really." It had, and she was sure that she would be annoyed by her scalded tongue later, but at the moment she was just desperate for the boost of energy that the coffee would give her.

Pine Knells was such a small town that they did not even have a separate building for their morgue, which had instead been set up in the basement of the police station. It was a pretty rough set-up, too, Emily was quick to note, and smelled like cold metal and chemicals. Glancing at Reid, she could tell that he was equally unimpressed, though he still greeted the coroner cordially and began going over her findings.

Emily meandered over to the table and the corpse on it. Corpse was perhaps too nice of a way to describe the hunk of mangled flesh before them.

It reeked of death gone stale, a cloying sweetness cottoning in Emily's mouth and nostrils. She could smell blood lingering on it, but nothing about it appealed to Emily, not when her new instincts kicked in and she realized why it was unappetizing–it lacked vitality. Life had vacated this body too long ago.

She felt sick, and it wasn't because of the body's odor or its mutilation. She didn't want to look at a body and know that the blood pumped from a still-beating heart was far preferable.

Her throat was so dry. Emily swallowed hard, but it didn't help.

"Did a real number on the fella, didn't that freak?" the coroner said as she walked up beside Emily, snapping on a pair of gloves.

"Yeah," Emily said simply, watching as the coroner directed their attention to a part of the body.

"See the wound edges? The body was found soon enough before predation and the environment damage that we finally have proof that this is not a natural death. Animals would leave the edges of the wounds ragged, but these ones? They're smooth, definitely done with a bladed weapon."

Emily felt more than saw Reid move around as he examined the body and continued the discussion with the coroner. A part of Emily felt embarrassed that she wasn't contributing, but in the quiet of the underground room, she was hyperaware of the warmth radiating from the two warm bodies present, of how their living scents wafted around them and the calm processes of their heart.

There were two warm bodies in the morgue, and Emily wasn't one of them. She wondered if those hearts would beat so slowly if their owners were aware that they shared this space with a predator.

She stepped nearer to the body, frowning and lowering her face closer to it as she caught a new scent, subtle but distinct to her now that she was familiar with it. At some point, the police chief had come into direct contact with the body. Of course, he was part of the investigation, so that wasn't unlikely, but doubt was rooting its way into Emily's mind, something about the way the scent was sunken into the carcass coming across as wrong.

—

Thank you for your patience in awaiting this new chapter. It was intended to go further, but I split it up as it the document grew longer. I hope you enjoyed it, and any reviews you may have to spare are appreciated.


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